Upon Her Heart
by thelostmeggie
Summary: Inara helps Mal fight for his life.
1. Author's Notes

**Disclaimer:** Inara and the entirety of the Firefly-verse belongs to Joss. FOX Broadcasting Company and Universal have some claim to them, too, since they're the ones that brought Firefly and Serenity to the public. I love writing about them, but I don't claim to have any ownership of the characters contained in the following fiction. I do, however, own the fiction and any use of plagiarism will endanger your life.

**Timeline:** This fiction takes place sometime after the movie, Serenity.

**Author's Notes: **Written for the LiveJournal community 30-shinyfics (prompt #01 - "red"). If you enjoy what you read: feel free to leave me a review or drop me a PM, but also feel free to check out my other fiction - the link is in my profile.


	2. Upon Her Heart

It's not really red. The color is so deep and rich that it seems to her to be closer to black. It covers her hands and she does what Simon tells her in his cool, calm voice. She doesn't move them. She keeps applying pressure, but it won't stop. It seeps between her fingers and runs down his side. It coats his clothing and her skirt and she's surprised she isn't shaking and screaming. She's surprised thoughts of vengeance haven't crossed her mind yet, but the simple fact is: she hasn't let herself feel anything yet. She's simply allowed Simon's voice to guide her because saving Mal is a hell of a lot more important than how this all has made her feel.

It was a stupid idea in her first place. Attempting to rip off one of the most secure banks on the outer planets was a suicide mission. She wouldn't have come along at all if she'd thought Mal had even half a chance without her. It had been her job to distract the guards. It had worked well enough. She was glamorous and gorgeous and these men had never met an honest to God Companion. She had managed to hold their attention for a good half hour. No manner of improvising could have allowed her to get anymore time with that √ men on the rim where suspicious of such finery showing up on their planets; especially when that finery was a living, breathing woman.

Unfortunately, Mal and the rest of the crew had needed a little more time. And, even though Inara had been able to subdue two of the men herself, and the crew had been prepared for a fight, Mal still found his way in front of a bullet. She shouldn't be surprised; this wasn't the first time and she knew it wouldn't be the last. The ship swayed under her and she fought to hold her hands tight against Mal's gut. River was a decent enough pilot, but takeoffs were still rough.

A groan came from Mal and Inara felt her heart skip a beat. She heard Simon again, explaining the procedure to her, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes had moved, finally, from the oozing wound her hands were on to Mal's face. She held her breath as his eyelashes fluttered on his cheek before lifting up, revealing those blue eyes that so often lingered in Inara's mind, long after a dream was finished.

His eyes captured hers and Inara found herself falling into them as easily as ever. His lips moved and she read them easily, despite the fact that no sound accompanied the movement. Before she could even let her eyes betray her, his eyes rolled back up into his head and his body fell slack beneath her hands.

A scream bubbled past her lips and tears stung the backs of her eyes. Her hands pressed down even heavier on his gut and she began to scream his name in a high pitched, primitive manner that displayed her own desperation not to lose him. Simon's arms were around her and, even though she fought him, he still managed to get her out of the infirmary and into Jayne's arms, which were waiting for her like a prison. They were just something else to add distance between her and Mal.

Simon returned to Mal's side and began working as quickly as possible. Jayne never lessened his grip on her and, eventually, she stopped crawling and kicking at him. She resigned herself to just waiting. Her eyes found her stained skirt and hands, stained with his blood. Blood darker than a rose in bloom, darker than her reddest gown, but blood all the same. The blood of the man who'd said, yet not said, the words she'd been longing to hear from him for years. The words that would finally give her soul a little peace, the words that would reassure her that her feelings weren't misplaced: I love you. Those words would forever be upon her heart. Long after she would wash the last of his blood off her skin and the majority of it off her dress, those words would still be there. She had to believe that those words, spoken (but not spoken) for the first time, wouldn't be the end of their beginning.


End file.
